"But you know they'll hunt you down..."

Sort of not awake. And I didn't expect to make an entry this ayem. But Sonya's (sovay) still asleep, and maybe I can get something out here without being a bad host. I live in constant fear of being The Bad Host.

A grand day yesterday. A bit too warm, and here it comes again today, the heat. A forecast high of 80F, with 58% humidity. It's Dr. Muñoz weather again. We picked Sonya up at the train station about 3 pm, and spent most of the afternoon just talking. Writing, mostly. Shop talk. For dinner, we made an enormous pot of chicken stew (chicken, red pepper sausage, a whole head of garlic, white onion, rosemary, tomatoes, thyme, kale, sage, white mushrooms), though it was really too hot for making stew. After dinner, after dark, we headed over to College Hill to show Sonya the Yellow House (HPL's "Shunned House"), and we stopped at the Ladd Observatory to see what the summer hours are. "Not many," would be the answer. Then we drove all the way down to Point Judith. An absolute pea soup of a fog had rolled in, blanketing Narragansett. We made it all the way down to Harbor of Refuge. The fog was truly amazing...well, for me at least. Spooky knows these things by heart. We sat on the granite boulders, talking about young-adult fiction, in general, and J. K. Rowling, in particular, and just being impressed by the fog. It could have been a claustrophobic experience, were I given to claustrophobia. The whole world seemed to have shrunk down to a bubble where we sat. We were quite wet in only a little while. At some point, a car drove by, and its headlights made a perfect rainbow in front of us, only it was gray, the rainbow, and the entire circumference was visible. So it was more a fog ring than a rainbow. Eerie. We headed back sometime after midnight. I read Sonya what I've written on The Red Tree, and I think I was asleep by the time I made it to the last page. I was in bed by maybe three ayem.

This whole socializing-with-other-authors thing is going to take some getting used to. It's been a while. Next Saturday (I think), I have dinner with S. T. Joshi and another Providence author.

Frank Woodward has sent me the second edit of the HPL documentary, though, I have to admit that I've not yet sat down and watched the first edit. Maybe today. We're supposed to hang pictures, but the heat may prevent that. The thermostat in the middle parlour reaches 81F, and it gets uncomfortable in here. Okay. Let's wrap this up. The platypus does not approve of all this not-writing, and frankly, neither do I.